


The Go-To Guy

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Cruel Intentions (1999)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-19
Updated: 2007-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1642889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine Tuttle weighs the pros and cons of doing a deal dirty with Sebastian Valmont in an extended, alternative style scene from the film.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Go-To Guy

**Author's Note:**

> This contains chunks of dialog from the film itself that I thought would be fun to integrate into the story to offer up a new slant to the characters and their relationship to one another. I wanted to show off a bit of the characters to incorporate the requested slash pairing as best as I could. Thanks be to Skitty the Great for always being my inspiration and encouragement.
> 
> Written for Geekwriter143

 

 

The pacing was seriously beginning to grate; Blaine did _not_ have nerves of steel. He carefully apportioned out another gram of product as he considered how to deal with Valmont's latest melodrama. What was he even talking about now?

Hhm. Right. The virgin thing again. Blaine rolled his eyes before he realized that this was, in fact, a situation he could resolve.

"Where did the little girl say she was from?"

"Kansas. Who the Hell do **I** know in Kansas?"

Blaine went through his mental rolodex to match faces to places: "Greg McConnell."

"The football stud?" Sebastian pushed off from the wall and the pacing started again briefly. "That would make sense. McConnell hates me. I fingered his girlfriend at homecoming last year."

Honestly? Blaine would have said anything to keep Valmont still long enough that he could measure his product without worrying his scales were getting fucked by vibrations, but he tossed out the truth because sometimes Valmont's confidence grated more than his nervous habits. Blaine had only begun to tolerate him because of his money and only kept tolerating him because of his entertainment factor...and possibly in part because Sebastian Valmont truly did have the most superb sense of style for a predominantly heterosexually inclined male of the teenaged persuasion. What a waste.

"I don't think that bothered him so much," Blaine scoffed.

"What do you mean?"

Sebastian's smile was sharp around its edges, his pretty mouth curved tight enough to hurt. Blaine knew he didn't have to spell it out but he was playing the game, accustomed to playing the game by now as Sebastian didn't suffer idiots.

"Well, let's just say that Greg likes to tackle the tight ends on and _off_ the field."

Blaine curved his hands around the taut flanks of an illusory lineman. He laughed to himself over the glee leaking through Sebastian's customary, perfect elocution.

"Oh, are you shitting me?"

"I shit you not. He used to sneak into my dorm room drunk every month and as soon as he'd come, he'd start freaking out," Blaine allowed his own theatrical tendencies to shine with an overdone rendition of Greg McConnell's closet-case issues. " _'Oh! What are you doing man? I'm not a fag! If you tell anyone, I'm going to kick your ass.'_ The only reason I let him keep up his little charade was because the man's got a mouth like a Hoover."

Sebastian scoffed -presumably at Blaine's pettiness as though he had any room for moral judgment- and things fell into a more familiar pattern for the two of them: problem, ideas, plans, agreement. Blaine was a go-to guy; he knew where he fit into the grand scheme of things and he was quite happy being a background man rather than a forerunner for lead. He was _not_ happy playing the part of a whore. _Pretty Woman_ really didn't do anything for him, nostalgically or otherwise.

The money Sebastian had tossed him was burning a heavy hole through the perfectly pressed linen of his oxford. Blaine removed the wad and threw it back onto the tabletop.

"I do this. You owe me, Valmont. I mean it."

Sebastian's eyes searched his face for a long moment. Blaine wondered what he really saw when he looked at Blaine's boyish features, his dark brows and artfully-crafted blond coiffure. The tight, sharp curl of his smile spoke of darker thoughts than Blaine himself had ever planned to inspire.

"Fine. You want more money? I'll have to get it. That's already twice what I've ever given you for a favor and we both know you don't need it," Sebastian nodded to the scales before him.

Amazing. The man could be infuriating with only a single - _honest_ even- implication. Blaine wondered why he simply couldn't hate him.

"Do I look like Julia Roberts to you, Valmont? I don't fuck for money. I say you owe me, you **owe** me."

Blaine had no plan in mind. Not for this, at least. For _that_ , he'd already mentally programmed his television to show _Spartacus_ , set up his video camera in a conspicuously inconspicuous position, and put on his most insipid lisp to lure The Gregster into his carefully unlocked home for later. Later was easy, **now** was harder.

Sebastian's head fell back with a rueful groan, "Oh yes. Of course. Fine. How would you like me, Blaine? Shall I attempt to bend over your desk without disturbing anything or simply drop to my knees in worship?"

His eyes were piercing and hard but the sharpness of his mouth had dulled. Blaine winced as Sebastian hit the hardwood with a gracelessly artful crash of reality.

Sebastian's voice was thick with his own smugness, playing him, playing the game as only he knew how, "You think if I tried hard enough, I could be as good as Greg the Stud?"

"God. Your opinion of yourself is incredible."

"Not as incredible as your opinion of me evidently. You _did_ just pass up **twice** your normal exorbitant fee for the trade, Blaine."

Rolling his eyes, Blaine leaned back into his chair and away from the honesty leaking out of Sebastian Valmont's cracked armor. She - _the virgin_ \- had wounded the beast. Unbelievable.

"How do you know I was asking for your ass, Sebastian? I said you'd owe me and you immediately inferred that meant I wanted to fuck you. Somehow, I think that says more about your self-opinion than my dishonorable intentions."

Blaine stared, transfixed, at the lush pout of Sebastian's mouth. He realized that he'd never seen that mouth anything less than _tight, sharp, hateful, feral, smug_.

"You don't want to fuck me?"

How did this become about _that_? Blaine looked at Sebastian for the first time since his...friend had shown up in a tizzy, pouring his latest melodramatic diatribe out all over Blaine's tastefully furnished home. His immaculately cut suit was wrinkled and far from the pristine, presentable front Sebastian normally upheld. There was an innocence lingering in his eyes that Blaine would have sworn had long been fucked, sucked, or cut out from anything near the person of one Sebastian Valmont.

"Fuck you, Valmont. We've been down that road," Blaine found himself speaking softly out of respect for something he couldn't name.

"And you've no interest in going down it again," Sebastian responded, bitterness sharpening his features into a semblance of the façade with which Blaine was most familiar. His hands came to rest on Blaine's knees.

"Does she make you laugh?"

"What?" Sebastian's fingers loosened their grip on his slacks, but Blaine knew the imprint would show in the pleats.

"You're so fucking high-strung, Sebastian. Fuck. Valmont, you never loosen up. Not for a single second. Not when you drink or smoke or even when you fuck. If that girl? Little Miss Teen Virgin USA? If she can make you laugh, make you live a little lighter? You better keep her."

"I don't even have her yet. That's what we're working on, remember? That's what you're helping me with, Blaine."

Sebastian smiled a Mona Lisa smile and Blaine's heart beat faster in his chest. He remembered why it was impossible to hate Sebastian Valmont: he'd never gotten close enough to him to hate him and he was the bastard's best friend. Fuck but he hated that virgin for being the cause of all of _this_. She was going to destroy him. Sebastian was pretty and perfect and utterly untouchable by human hands and now he was bleeding his heart's blood out from having only _chased after her_. Blaine hoped he didn't have to hear about it when he finally fucked her.

"You think your hand on my dick is going to get her for you?"

"I think it'll get you for me."

Blaine thought of the wicked hickey Greg McConnell had left on his stomach during their last encounter and wondered if desperation would equal out to fingerprint-shaped bruises when brought to the bed by Sebastian Valmont. He wondered if Sebastian could loosen up with him after having started _the chase_ for his elusive virgin goddess.

"Sebastian..."

"What?!" Sebastian yelled in his face, rocking back onto his haunches. The weight and heft of his hands lingered ghost-like on Blaine's thighs.

"The last time we fucked was a nightmare! You hated it! Sebastian, fucking isn't always the answer. I want you to owe me a favor. Is that so much to ask? That, God forbid, **I** want a favor sometime?"

Blaine looked because he couldn't stop himself and then hated that he'd already known the answer: Sebastian didn't want _him_ , he just didn't know any other way to feel alive. The game was all Valmont had ever had. It was in the breeding.

"I'll owe you a favor, Blaine. Sure!" Sebastian yelled back at him. His mouth looked stung and ripe. Blaine wondered if he could kiss him without having his soul sucked out to fill the void Blaine could see lingering in Sebastian's searching eyes.

Blaine nodded and didn't trust himself to speak.

"I thought tight was a good thing anyway. You know I've never let myself be fucked by anyone else. Whatever Greg McConnell might protest to you in the dark, you and I both know it's not about being a fag for me. I'd let you fuck me again, Blaine. I'd let you do it."

Blaine closed his eyes and ruined his hair with his hands. He pulled until his scalp hurt before letting go to look at Valmont again.

"I know that. I've never asked because that's what it would be. _Letting me_. That's tantamount to rape, Valmont. You think I get off on the idea of you _letting me_ fuck you?"

Sebastian frowned, shaking his head no even as the tight set of his shoulders said _yes, you're right of course_.

"Let it go, Sebastian. This girl? She's changing you. She's _already_ changed you, man! I want a favor sometime in the future. You want a favor now. I figure I'll make a huge sacrifice and let a closet-case worship my cock with his mouth tonight."

Blaine couldn't look at him any longer. He focused instead on the pile of product still waiting to be weighed. Sebastian stood and straightened his pants wordlessly. The tightness moving back into his body was practically audible. He didn't speak again until his armor was back in place.

"Fine. Shall we say the stroke of midnight? No pun intended."

Ignoring the vulgar suggestion of Sebastian's hand on his property, Blaine nodded his assent.

"Stroke of midnight it is."

Blaine even offered his video camera up for evidence of his willingness but Sebastian was already walking out, him and all his offers.

" _Hasta_."

Blaine carefully did not think about the reasons behind the game as he dialed Greg McConnell. He almost gagged on his own deceit but Greg was coming. Literally and figuratively if he was lucky.

The game was simple and effective and Blaine was a go-to guy. He _got_ someone **to** their desires and he was _going_ to get that virgin for Sebastian Valmont even if it did make him potentially comparable to a bad chick-flick starring a typecast actress with unfortunate dress sense. He was _going_ to do this even if he really fucking hated it and he really fucking hoped that Miss Teen Virgin USA got hit by a car and left behind a wounded, lovelorn Sebastian in need of some tender, loving care. Even if. He was _going_ to make it happen.

 


End file.
